Present-Minded
by pladskrtgrl
Summary: Henry is a little absent-minded...


Present-Minded

Rain steadily hit the lead-paned windows of the inn. Charlotte Branwell—she couldn't get used to the new name, _Bran_well—sat at the edge of the lumpy bed, her gloved hands twisting in her lap. She had come up after supper, and though it was dark in the room, she had not yet lit the lamps. There was only faint heat and light from the dying embers in the grate and she couldn't bring herself to stir them up. Her rune stone was in her pocket, but she did not want its cool light. In the darkness, when she could not see where she was, she did not have to face the reality of the fact that earlier this morning she had bound herself 'til death with absent-minded Henry Branwell.

Henry was still downstairs, dawdling over his rabbit stew and a book on mammalian skeletons he had received as wedding gift from his father. He seemed to have quite forgotten that it was their wedding night, and when she had stood up from the table and shyly attempted to make eye contact, saying she was going to bed, he had hardly looked up from the page, waving her on with a dripping spoon. "Absolutely, darling, I'll be along."

In the darkness, she rolled her eyes. There was no point in disappointment anymore. Marrying Henry would allow her to do what she did best: run the London Institute. If she had hoped there might be something of a relationship between them, then no one but her need know it. The name and status he gave her was enough.

Deciding this would not be much of a wedding night, Charlotte stripped off her gloves and unpinned her hat. Wearily she lay them on the bedside table, unlaced and removed her boots, and sank back into the miserably lumpy mattress. Pulling the pins from her hair she let the light brown mass tumble over her shoulders. She did not even bother take off the muslin gown she had put on to travel in after discarding her lovely but overdone gold wedding dress. It had been such a long carriage ride through the fog down from London that the effort it would take to undress and locate her nightgown in the trunks stacked in the corner was too much. She folded her hands under cheek on the scratchy pillow and closed her eyes, listening to the rain.

The door burst open. "Hip dysplasia!" shouted Henry, where he stood framed in the doorway, light from the hall igniting his ginger hair. Charlotte sat bolt upright, her unbound hair loosely swinging over her shoulders and back. She had just been beginning to doze and her first instinct in waking to shouts was to reach for the seraph blade she had carried in a special pocket at the side of her skirt. Before she could whisper the name that would awake it, sense returned, adding up the shouting, the light, and the Henry into a scene of enthralled discovery.

"Awfully dark in here, dearest," he said, coming in and shutting the door with his heel.

"Yes, darkness is often to be found in a room where one is sleeping," Charlotte muttered, adding the seraph blade to the bedside table with her other belongings. She straightened her skirts, tucking her stockinged toes under the hem to shield them from the cold of the room.

Henry removed a match from the inner pocket of his coat and struck it along the mantle. He held it pressed between his fingers, looking at Charlotte "You weren't sleeping were you?"

"Oh, not at all," said Charlotte watching flame lick down the short match, nearing his fingertips. "Henry—"

"Yeeeow." Henry hurriedly tipped the match into the flue of a nearby oil lamp. The wick caught, creating enough of a glow by which he could turn back to his leather-bound book.

"Listen to this, it's really quite impressive: 'Dr. Ephraim Tannebaum, in his studies on the southern African continent…'" Henry read on, balancing his book in one hand, and half-bending, half-hopping to remove first one boot, then the other. All the time, Charlotte followed his movements around the room, saying nothing.

His shoes removed to reveal two mismatched socks, Henry placed the edge of the tome in his mouth and began shrugging out of his coat. He muttered around the edge of the book, discoursing with gusto, but Charlotte was at a loss to what he could possibly be saying. Perhaps, "I truly regret this marriage. We are so ill-suited for each other," or "I really enjoy vanilla parsnips." He draped the jacket over the back of a chair in front of which he kicked his boots in a haphazard pile.

"'The hips of large mammals are inverted in both directions—'"

"Henry," Charlotte cleared her throat.

Henry looked up, almost surprised to see her there, though he had just been speaking to her a moment before. His mouth froze on his the next words he was about to read. "Your…your hair looks lovely in the light like that," he said shyly.

Charlotte felt a blush rise up her cheeks. She had been about to scold him. "Thank you." Her eyes flicked down to her lap.

Henry closed his book. "You weren't waiting for me, were you?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I was just—"

"I'm sorry," said Henry, dropping the book into the chair with his coat. "The section on joints just gave me such an idea—you know how I get when an idea strikes." A timid smile crossed his lips.

"It's alright, Henry, really."

"It's not. Waiting for me up here in this freezing room. On our wedding night." A deep crimson blush rose in his cheeks and he turned hurriedly away, squatting to stoke up the fire." He did not turn back to look at her but said, "Is that better?"

The difference was negligible, but Charlotte said, "Yes. Thank you."

Henry stood then and crossed slowly to her. She sat up straighter.

"I'm sorry you're finding me so absent-minded, darling."

Charlotte shook her head again. "I knew that when I accepted your proposal."

It was Henry's turn to shake his head. "No. We're married now. I'll try to be a little more…"

"Present-minded?" Charlotte suggested, allowing one side of her mouth to rise up in a smile.

"Yes," said Henry, and he said it with such sincerity that the smile dropped right off Charlotte's face. He hesitantly stretched out his hand and brushed the back of his knuckles along the side of her cheek, then dropped his hand to her hair. Fingering a silky lock, he said, "Truly, it's so very pretty down, Lottie."

She met his eyes then, reflecting the dim light of the room, and after a moment of holding her gaze he leaned over to blow out the lamp. Just before the light winked out of the room the thought passed through Charlotte's mind that a present-minded Henry might be just what she had been hoping for…


End file.
